The Escape
by Kida Greenleaf
Summary: This is a short story about Gollum's brief time imprisoned in Mirkwood. It is a Legolas-centric story, with cameos from Aragorn, Thranduil, Silinde and plenty of other Mirkwood Elves. Bloody parts included. Please review.
1. The Capture of Gollum

AUTHOR NOTES: This is my angsty and violent short story about Gollum's brief stint in Mirkwood. It's one of the first LOTR stories I ever wrote. I wanted to bring three of my favorite characters together (Legolas, Aragorn and Gollum) and decided this was the perfect opportunity. (and for those of you who have read my other stories-yes, this story was used for the first two chapters of another of my fics-but it was originally written to stand on its own).  
  
And on to the story:  
  
  
  
Chapter I - The Capture of Gollum  
  
The stag's head was bent down, curving his sleek body from torso to fur-dusted jaw line. The lovely curving antlers were raised a few inches above the ground, and one was partly broken. He was quietly making a feast out of the wet moss that grew in colonies about the roots of the Mirkwood trees. The white sunlight of the Outside dappled his glossy, sable coat. A bird cried out, and the stag's shoulders tensed briefly. The glassy eyes blinked. He continued to eat.  
  
Silently, the arrow was fitted to the string. Strong fingers curved around the base of the shaft, slowly, measured, balanced. The arrow was pulled back. No sound issued from the Elven-spun cord of the bow. Its flexible wood did not creak: the skilled hands that had crafted the bow had conditioned it for stealth and silence befitting an Elven prince. Though the realm of Mirkwood was always alive and moving with many forms of life, the archer did not breathe.  
  
The stag moved onto the next patch of moss, slightly lifting his crowned head.  
  
The archer pulled his right arm back. His left arm he straightened, locking the elbow. In moments the arrow would surge from the bow and thud into the deer's side, between the third and fourth rib, puncturing most of the stag's lung, nicking the left atrium of the warm heart, ending life in a matter of seconds: virtually painless but lethally precise. The woods went silent. The trees did not move.  
  
A cry, shrill and piercing, rang through the clearing.  
  
The sound erupted like the breaking of many glasses, and the archer's heart leapt within his chest. The stag swung his head up. His eye caught the glint of the lighted arrowhead. In a moment he saw the Elf crouched a few meters away. Familiar signs went to his darkened mind: sharp, blood, enemy, death, run, run, run! The archer rose to his feet, his own pulse aflutter from the bloodcurdling sound. He was defeated, as the stag disappeared in an earthy-hued flash. A flock of sparrows flew up as it bounded away toward deeper shadows. The woods exhaled, still reeling from the scream.  
  
"Again," Legolas sighed. But he did not replace the arrow in his quiver. The scream had warned him against such. *Eventually I shall have him,* he thought, fingering the end of the arrowhead tentatively. *One day the Stag will be mine.* Now he focused his thought on the source of the sound.  
  
Indeed, a clamor was coming closer. Extremely close. Fifty yards away. He thought he could hear quiet footfalls, firm and steady-and the rushed padding of bare feet? A whimpering sound, like a punished hound after a beating from its master. Legolas swiftly turned to face the noise. Through the trees he could barely see the flecks of light darting off of a tall man's cloak.  
  
Birds flew up and away from the walker. Legolas decided to join them, selecting the large, twisting tree to his right. The branches were high, but he was blessed with Elven vitality and was counted strong among his own kind. Gracefully he leapt up to catch the lowest bough and swung up into the greenery above just as the Man entered the tiny clearing. His face was grim and faintly lined, but beautiful and noble. His dark hair was dusted silver at the temples. It was strange to the Elf, the way that it seemed Men changed color as they neared their deaths, like a dying tree.  
  
The Man was not alone. He was dragging a creature along with him whom Legolas at first took to be an ailing, underfed whippet missing its hair. Then he saw that the thing had arms and legs like a human, with a round baldhead and large baleful eyes. It was horrible to look upon. He wondered if the thing had been stricken with the human vulnerability called "disease."  
  
When they had passed his tree, Legolas leapt to the earth behind them, silently landing. Yet even as he did so, the Man swiftly spun around and his emaciated ward let out another screech. The Elf was a bit astounded to have been noticed: no mortal man had ever guessed the Prince's coming before. There was a comical split second when the three stood staring at each other.  
  
In an instant, Legolas knew that it was no mere mortal Man who stood before him. The stranger's eyes were a dark gray with a silver sheen, and his face was fairer than that of most Men. There was no apprehension in those eyes: caution, yes, yet a thin film of it compared to the impression that Legolas gathered- whoever the Man was, he was ready to spring, a tidal wave frozen at the crest. Then it dawned upon the Elf.  
  
"A ranger?" Legolas spoke in Westron, wonder audible in his voice. Slowly, he lowered his bow. "Long has it been since the Dunedain have passed through Mirkwood."  
  
The Man seemed to relax a bit, having been received with friendly words, but the creature did not. It crouched behind its master, clinging desperately to his cloak. It cringed when the man spoke, seeming to be in dread of his voice: "It has been many years, indeed, since I at least have traveled hither. So long in fact, that it is no wonder you do not recognize me, Prince Legolas." He had an accent like an Elf's, so his first language must have been Sindarin.  
  
Legolas narrowed his eyes, and refused to fall into his mother tongue as of yet. "How know you my name, Sir?"  
  
The Man laughed. "Once you knew mine."  
  
Could it be? Legolas' mouth opened slightly, though at first no words issued forth. He found them at last: "Aragorn?"  
  
A smile spread across the Ranger's face as his friend hastened to him and embraced him heartily. Legolas grinned. "Mae govannen! It has indeed been too long. Forgive me: I forget the changes of mortals. Yet you have not changed at all in your stealth and secrecy of manner. What brings you to my father's kingdom?" He remembered the crouching thing. "And what is *that*?"  
  
"Curious, as ever," Aragorn said with a grin. "I will answer all your questions in time, yet I have one for you. Why do you wander the woods alone? Have you not an escort in the outskirts of Mirkwood? These are dark times."  
  
"You sound like my father," Legolas replied with a sad smile. "He would not have me wander the forests alone now that the Shadow draws nigh. I disobey him for my own sake. He prefers the comforts of the palace, and I the company of trees."  
  
"Then you at least have changed little."  
  
"Yes, that is true. He seeks to blame my ways on the circumstance of my youth. Besides the Evenstar in Imladris, I know that I am the lastborn of our people." At the mentioning of Arwen, a shadow seemed to pass over Aragorn's face. *He still loves her* Legolas thought. *Yet I foresee sorrow in the end.* He smiled, and laid a hand upon his friend's shoulder, and fell into Sindarin without thought.  
  
"Come. You must speak with my father."  
  
* * *  
  
Aragorn and Legolas spoke in their native tongue, exchanging news of their realms-for the prince, it was simply Mirkwood and a bit to the east (the Elves had many dealings with Laketown and Erebor), but for the Ranger, it was the entire Outside world. Aragorn explained that the creature he dragged along was Gollum, once a Halfling named Sméagol, who had fallen into shadow after corruption by the One Ring. He spoke in whispers, his eyes shifting to the forms of the sinister Mirkwood trees. Not all trees were allied with the Free Peoples.  
  
The walk back to the Elven city was swift with their talk, and in time they came upon the outer sentinels of Thranduil's realm. They saluted Legolas in the de rigueur manner as any Elf would salute an Elven-prince. When Aragorn's eyes met those of the guards, he felt a strange hostility. Of course he knew the Wood-elves to be mistrusting folk, but there was a new fear in their eyes.  
  
"Good afternoon, my Prince," came a call from the boughs above. Legolas stopped and shaded his eyes with his long, slender hand, gazing upward. He replied, "And to you, Silindë. Have any messengers arrived at my Father's hall?"  
  
"No. There have been no messengers for three weeks now. May I ask with whom you are traveling? It is not King Thranduil's will that strangers should pass through the Gateway."  
  
"No stranger do I bring. Do you remember, many years ago, when the Rangers came to Esgaroth to trade at Midsummer? It was two summers after the fall of the Dragon. I introduced you to one of them and he has returned. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn."  
  
Silindë's eyes went wide, and he swiftly returned his bow to its rightful place across his shoulders. "It has been many years since the Dunedain have come to Mirkwood! And now travel is of great risk. How came you to Mirkwood unscathed, Aragorn?"  
  
Aragorn smiled, but before he could answer, the prince said, "Ah, but you mistake Aragorn for a normal mortal man. He has been raised by Elrond Peredhil and his people, and is more akin to you and I than any other of his kind." He turned to Aragorn with a smile as mischievous as a child's and whispered in a voice as to be barely heard among the rustling branches: "Aragorn Arathornion, eldarion i adanion." (Aragorn son of Arathorn, of the Elves and of Men)  
  
Silindë smiled from above-he had not heard Legolas' low-voiced words. "Indeed. Yet even we cannot travel outside our realm unarmed. I admire your skill, Aragorn. It is good to see you again. You may pass."  
  
Legolas, Aragorn and the little gray creature continued onward. The shadowy form of the palace was seen through the tree line. They passed several other Wood-Elves who first bowed to their prince, then stared at Gollum. None would come near: Elves had the ability to sense the evil in Gollum like a vapor surrounding him, a blackened aura. The four guards who stood by the pathway leading to the great doors were reluctant to let the sniveling blight inside, but Legolas insisted and they gave way. Some of his folk whispered, in later years, that the ground where Gollum had stepped became sparse of life. No seed would grow in the soil of his footprints. The power of the Ring was present in Mirkwood.  
  
* * *  
  
Outside the doors to Thranduil's Hall, Legolas paused. He always did. There was something he always found to be absurd about the cavernous palace of Mirkwood. It was positively...*dwarvish* living in a cave of sorts. How he wished they could live as his cousins in Lorien did, upon the flets set in mallorns, lying beneath the stars at night, basking in the golden light during the day. In his father's hall, torches and lanterns provided evening light, not stars or moonbeams.  
  
Aragorn sensed his friend's apprehension, and wondered at its arrival as they had neared Legolas' respected home. "What is it, Legolas?"  
  
Legolas sighed, and raised his arms before the great gate. He cleared his mind and breathed slowly, focusing on the silent incantation he had been taught when he was still very young to open the stones and enter the palace.  
  
*thrond o eldari* *lasto beth nin* (Gateway of the Eldar Hear my voice)  
  
The doors yielded and slowly swung open. Elf, Man and unknown straggler stepped between them, and the slabs of stone closed behind, little grooves upon the edges fitting together to form an impenetrable wall against the dangers of Mirkwood.  
  
Down the winding tunnel they traveled. Torches and golden lanterns lighted it. At the end were two guards who nodded as they passed, gazing in morbid fascination at what was Gollum.  
  
The tunnel opened up into the beautiful throne room, but his father was not there. Seven long tables were being set up for a banquet, which seemed odd. There was no cause for celebration. Ah, but King Thranduil was a master of distraction. A feast was good to turn the minds of Sylvan Elves from the shadow and the twilight. Legolas wished that for once his father might face the truth.  
  
He left Aragorn and his ward in the throne room, with two guards in case the creature became a hazard. Legolas went to the study, which was where his father could usually be found. This was the room used to discuss matters of state and defense, two things that Legolas abhorred. Still, it had a great library. It was also the room Legolas had used when he took lessons as a child, first learning to write the Tengwar, Angerthas, and how to speak Quenya, Nandorin, Westron and enough Dwarvish to get by when they traded with the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain. Thranduil was standing at the great, carved table, which was spread with maps and diagrams of the southern parts of Mirkwood: he was researching the new threat of Dol Guldur.  
  
Thranduil did not look up when they entered. He did let out a long, frustrated sigh.  
  
"Legolas, it is always wise to knock before entering any room."  
  
"Yes, Father." Legolas smiled.  
  
The Elven-King looked up finally. "Well, what is it?"  
  
"Aragorn son of Arathorn has arrived. He brings with him a creature unlike any I have seen, and desires to speak with you regarding it."  
  
"The Man came to Mirkwood alone?" Thranduil raised his brows.  
  
"Amazing, isn't it, that a Man walks through Mirkwood unscathed, and an Elf with years of experience in his homeland behind him is forbidden to do so?" The prince narrowed his eyes.  
  
Thranduil groaned. "We will discuss this another time, my son. Tell Aragorn I will be with him in a moment. Make sure he is made comfortable."  
  
Legolas nodded brusquely, spun on his heel and left, not caring that the door had "accidentally" slammed behind him.  
  
* * *  
  
"And how is his lordship?"  
  
Legolas wanted to hit Aragorn as hard as he was able for the amusement present in the Man's face. "Leave me alone, Engwaro. *He* certainly does not." (Engwaro: sickly one, a derogatory term used by the Elves for Men)  
  
Gollum hissed something in an orc-sounding snarl and swiped at Legolas' legs.  
  
"Ai! What's this?" Legolas stepped back as though he'd been stung. "I don't think he likes me much."  
  
Aragorn jerked on the cord that was looped round Gollum's throat. The creature gurgled in pain. "He likes nothing that is good, be it an Elf or a ray of sunlight. Even the moon and stars seem to annoy him. At night he would whisper things about the menace of 'the great white face,' and shake his fist at the heavens."  
  
"Little devil," Legolas laughed. He knelt in front of Gollum who had twisted himself into a fetal position and rolled about side to side. "What do you eat, little one?"  
  
Gollum blinked balefully at the kneeling Elf and said nothing.  
  
"Come now, you must be hungry." Legolas glanced up at Aragorn. "He does eat *something* doesn't he? He looked at Gollum again, slightly tilting his head to the side. "What do you eat, little one?" he asked in Westron.  
  
Gollum hissed. Then Legolas realized he was saying a word.  
  
"Fissssshhhh."  
  
"Fish?"  
  
Gollum hissed again. Legolas took it for, "Yes."  
  
"Well, there you have it." The prince smiled and rose to his feet, motioning to one of the servants who were helping to set up the banquet hall. "Carnil, will you go to the kitchens and see if they have caught any fish today? If they have, I'll need a plate of it brought out here for this one." He turned to Gollum, who was back rolling about on the floor, and laughed a little. Carnil nodded and went away.  
  
"Mae govannen, Aragorn Arathornion."  
  
King Thranduil had entered the room. Aragorn bowed deeply. "My Lord Thranduil. It has been too long.  
  
Immediately, the King turned an interested stare upon Gollum. "And he is?"  
  
"A little 'gift' from Mithrandir," the Man replied. Both Elven royals looked at him in shock.  
  
"Mithrandir?" Legolas said in an amazed whisper. "He is abroad again?"  
  
"His wanderings never cease," Aragorn said. "Nor shall his labors end, I think. He bade me bring the creature Gollum to your kingdom, knowing that here he was farthest away and safest from The Enemy."  
  
Thranduil raised a hand, confused. "Wait. The Shadow is looking for this Gollum? Why?"  
  
"It is an issue involving Isildur's bane." Aragorn leaned toward the King and the Prince. "I think it best if Gollum is out of sight and earshot while we discuss his fate. The Ring has made him what he is today."  
  
At the word "Ring" Gollum sat up straight and let out an ear- splitting howl. Everyone in the hall jumped in their skins. Gollum ceased and lunged at Aragorn, who kicked him aside with a weary look on his face.  
  
"I see." Thranduil grimaced. Then he called over four guards and bade them to lead Gollum into one of the underground dungeons. "See to it that he has one that is clean and well lit."  
  
"And have his food sent down to him," Legolas added, as Carnil had reentered the room with a plate of filleted fish caught from the Forest River.  
  
"If I may, my Lord," Aragorn said, "I think it is more to Gollum's liking if he were to have a.well.darker cell. One that perhaps isn't so pleasant?"  
  
"What on Middle-earth for?"  
  
"He is accustomed to such. He has spent nearly five hundred years living in a cave."  
  
"Five hundred years?" Legolas gasped.  
  
"Indeed. There is much I need to tell you."  
  
Gollum was lead away, and the three retired back into the study to hear in full the account of not one story, but two: of a Halfling named Sméagol, and one named Bilbo Baggins.  
  
-Fin-  
  
Next: Chapter II - The Night Ambush  
  
Please review! 


	2. The Night Ambush

AUTHOR NOTES: Here's the second part.  
  
Chapter II - The Night Ambush  
  
So it was revealed in full to the Elves of Mirkwood all that could be told on the matter of the rising Shadow and the search for the Ring of Power. Legolas' mind was reeling. It seemed to him that with the coming of Aragorn, the things his father had whispered to him in his youth, the stories of encroaching evils and nameless fears, these things had become real. Glancing out the slender window, the surrounding trees seemed huge and dark, as menacing as the shapeless shadows that lurked between them.  
  
He learned, at last, how the Halfling Bilbo had snuck up on the Elven camp before the Battle of Five Armies to deliver the Arkenstone to his father and Bard, now long dead. Legolas sadly recalled the friendship of Bard-but he was a Man, and a Man of common human blood, not granted the Númenorean life of Aragorn and his kin. Now Bard's grandson, Brand, was king of Dale. The days before, during and after the Battle of Five Armies seemed like ages ago, though other parts in his life further in the past seemed to have occurred only yesterday.  
  
He learned of Gollum's torment in Barad-dûr, and he felt himself shudder at the thought of imprisonment there. He learned of the growing strength of the Enemy in the southeast, of the cowardly Men who had turned to join him. He learned, too, though part of him had already guessed it, that many Elves were leaving, fleeing to the Havens while time allowed it.  
  
Legolas vowed then, silently to himself, that he would never flee.  
  
Upon Mithrandir's request, Gollum was to stay in their dungeons, guarded day and night, until his fate could be decided for him. Yet there was still hope for his recovery and return to the Light, though many years and toils it would take. Aragorn explained, "Lord Elrond of Rivendell entreats that you send an envoy to his house in October of next year for a great council. There more will be revealed, and there are things others will wish to hear from you as well." He rose finally, and stretched his arms. "Now I must leave you, King Thranduil. I am needed in the West."  
  
"Surely you can stay for one night?" Legolas entreated.  
  
"I insist," added Thranduil. "It is more than impressive that you have traveled thus far through Mirkwood alone, yet the Woods closest to our kingdom are the least safe by night, for there the Spiders gather in wait." Indeed, the sun had set an hour ago, but it seemed black as night under the branches of the Forest Kingdom.  
  
Aragorn smiled wearily. "Thank you my lords. I will stay one night, but by dawn I must leave. My people are roaming near Eriador, having guarded it for the past twenty years. The West is also alive with evil, as it has not been since the Dark Days."  
  
* * *  
  
Thranduil sent two scouts with Aragorn on his way back west toward the Misty Mountains. In a week they reported back. The Elves and the Ranger, unburdened by Gollum, had made the trip swiftly and safely, with just one encounter with the Spiders. There were only two creatures, both easily slain by the three apt warriors.  
  
Time went by. Aragorn had arrived in early spring, when cold winds still whistled through the trees. Now summer was nearing. The woods smelled alive and fecund. Moss sprouted over the stones and upon the barks of the trees. Near the borders of the land, where sunlight could get in, small flowers had begun to bloom. But the game was less. The hunters returned to the palace with half of what they usually caught during this time. Only one thing could be accounted for it: the growing number of Spiders, and other things too grim to speak of.  
  
Legolas was forced to practice archery not once but twice each day. He was the best: he always had been, and he knew it. Everyone knew it, save Thranduil it seemed. Legolas felt his hands and arms cramp from the extra exertion when at rest. He dared not reveal such to his father: he would probably suggest more rigorous lessons, to knead the weakness out of his son.  
  
There was less time for merriment, and little reason to enjoy oneself. Everyone in the kingdom felt the oncoming Dark. Messengers from Dale became less and less frequent. Men, it seemed, feared Mirkwood more than its own people. They had ceased communication with the Dwarves of Erebor altogether.  
  
Then there was Gollum. The creature fascinated Legolas, and broke his heart, too. From the moment he had met him, Gollum despised the prince-yet he despised everyone in the kingdom, he had despised Aragorn, and, from listening to his nighttime whisperings, Legolas learned he despised himself as well. There was only one thing he clearly loved: the Ring. He did not try to hide it. Once, when Legolas went to visit Gollum in his cell, bringing with him a plate of fish (uncooked, this time: Gollum had refused to eat the stuff Carnil had prepared), he had been deep in a conversation with himself.  
  
"We wants it, we do. We wants it so badly it burns! It burns, it does, preciousss. Thieving Baggins. But He knows now! He does! He knows! Hee hee hee, silly hobbitses. Silly Baggins. Baggins doesn't know that He is coming." Gollum whipped his head up, realizing that the Elf prince had been standing on the other side of the prison bars, listening to every word. "Nasty Elf! Cruel Elfses! Don't stare, don't stare. Fierce, bright eyes! Go! Go!"  
  
"Sméagol," Legolas whispered, refusing to call the creature by his darker surname, "I'm sorry to have startled you. I was not listening, I promise. Here, look: I've brought you your supper. Just as you like it."  
  
Gollum crawled forward toward the plate that Legolas slide under the gate. He sniffed it once and his face changed into a look of disgusted rage. "Smells of Elfs! Cruel, fierce Elfs try to poison Gollum! Yes, yes. They don't like us, no they don't."  
  
"That's not true-" Legolas began. Gollum interrupted by screeching.  
  
"Lies! Lies! Bad Elf, liar Elf! Go, go, go!"  
  
Legolas sighed. "Very well, Sméagol. I'm going now. Eat up. It's all you will get until morning."  
  
Gollum hissed back. Yet as Legolas ascended the stairs that led away from the dungeon, out of the corner of his eye he saw Gollum reach a trembling hand out toward the plate of fish.  
  
* * *  
  
Legolas knew Gollum hated him, as he hated everything, but he found himself becoming strangely sympathetic with the little creature. He realized that Gollum felt trapped inside the little cell, and that it was truly nothing like the vast tunnels of his lair in the mountains. But Legolas had an idea.  
  
The Elves began to take Gollum outside, among the trees. The first time they did he was unrestrained and, as soon as he stepped foot on the open ground, he broke into a frantic run. He had not guessed that Elves were the fastest of the Free Peoples, and they quickly overtook him. Back in the dungeon he went, but they did not punish him in any other way. The next day they led him out using a leash of sorts: a long, thin cord, looped around his neck, a spell laid upon it to prevent it from breaking or unraveling. Different guards took turns watching him as the days went by, and sometimes they fastened the end of the string onto a lone, tall tree so that Gollum could be by himself. But there were always guards nearby.  
  
One such day, Gollum became frustrated and went to try to untie the knot of the cord that was around the tree. The guards let him try: they knew he would never be able to undo a knot of elvish make. He couldn't. While sniveling and squealing with rage, beating his fists against the tree, Gollum felt a change. He laid his gray palm against the bole. Then he laid both hands upon it. For a long moment Gollum stayed as such, both palms up against the tree, his wide eyes growing wider, his mouth opening and shutting slowly like a fish out of water.  
  
The guards stopped talking and looked on at their ward in interest. Finally, one asked, "Gollum? Is all well?"  
  
In a flash, Gollum scrambled up the tree.  
  
The guards ran to its base and glared up. Gollum had climbed as far as the cord allowed, and he wrapped himself around the trunk, grinning hysterically, catching black butterflies and stuffing them in his mouth. For the first time, he looked happy, or at least amused. Legolas came to visit the prisoner (he did so once a day) and was pleasantly surprised.  
  
"Let him stay up there," he said, smiling. "The air will do him good. I'm amazed he stands the sunlight. At night we will get him down."  
  
It was easier said than done. When asked, Gollum refused to move from his leafy abode. The guards tried to tempt him with promises, and then they used threats. Nothing. Finally, a guard named Baran said he would climb up after Gollum. Wearily, he laid his spear down and scaled the tree at a speed Gollum had not expected. It seemed he had not had time to breathe before the strong Elf caught him in both arms and began to wrench him away from the bole. But Gollum was a fighter. He clung to branches with both his hands and his feet and let out a screech.  
  
Baran proved to be stronger. He ripped Gollum from the tree and sped down toward the earth. Gollum was so upset that he burst into tears. But Baran was not cruel. "This is for the best, little one. The Spiders come out at night, and they would catch you easily and eat you while you still breathed." Gollum would not be consoled. He screamed all the way back into his dungeon and kept it up during a good deal of the night until his own weariness silenced him.  
  
Days passed into weeks. June came, warm and welcome, though colder than the Junes of previous summers. The guard around the kingdom was doubled. The trees seemed to shift with tension, and the dim, green glow of light below the Canopy darkened.  
  
Gollum was lead out everyday, and everyday he ran up the tree, and every night he had to be brought down, crying his baleful eyes out. It was during this time that Legolas noticed a change come over Gollum. The creature spoke to himself less often, but he did not become sweeter or more winsome. There was eeriness to his silence, like a premonition. Gollum saw something that they could not yet perceive and it was this knowledge that must have made him grin horrible smiles in his sleep. The guard around him was moved from two to three Elves, all armed with curved hunting knives and poison-tipped spears.  
  
The day of the New Moon, June 20th, Legolas volunteered to be one of the three guards. Thranduil allowed him to forfeit his evening archery practice, and he went to join the other two who watched Gollum. It was Amandil, a renowned scout, and Baran once again. The three Elves let Gollum climb up the tree, carefully knotting the cord around the base of the trunk. Gollum disappeared into the branches without a sound. No noise did he make nor word did he utter all day.  
  
"I do not like his silence," Amandil remarked, glancing up to where Gollum sat wrapped around a branch, smiling into the wind. "A change has come over him. I would think it was for the better, but my heart tells me otherwise."  
  
"I feel that, too," said Baran. He fingered the hilt of one of the knives strapped to his hip.  
  
"As do I," Legolas added. "But look: he is appreciative of the wind, and perhaps even what little sun we receive. Mithrandir told Aragorn that hope remained for Sméagol's recovery, and to that I will hold. The trees heal many. In time, they will reach him as well."  
  
The day passed by quickly: strangely so. Darkness fell as swiftly as if it were the middle of winter. The Elves all sensed the evil lurking in the growing shadows. Amandil touched Baran's arm. "Go up and get him now. Night is coming."  
  
Baran groaned. "Must I? I still have scars on my hands that have not healed from his biting mouth."  
  
Amandil smiled wryly, "But he likes you now. I think he's used to you."  
  
Legolas laughed. "If neither of you will do it, I will." The trees rustled nearby. He changed his tone and expression to one of utter seriousness. "Hold my lance, Amandil. I will be down in a moment." He felt a dark premonition coming. Were the Spiders on the hunt again?  
  
No sooner had Legolas caught the first, lowest branch of the tree than his heart froze as all of his senses alerted him of an approaching force, a wave of shadow. The awareness was paralyzing. His mind screamed one silent word.  
  
"Yrch."  
  
* * *  
  
Almost immediately, the air whistled with a haphazard wave of black- feathered arrows. Legolas and Baran dropped flat to the ground, but Amandil was not quick enough. Two darts smote him in the chest. He opened his mouth and the death-gasp escaped. Within a moment he fell to the ground, but was dead before he landed.  
  
"Amandil!" Baran cried, unsheathing his blade quicker than eyes could follow. He was about to stand, but Legolas clasped his arms around his comrade's legs and wouldn't let him rise.  
  
"No, Baran. Stay. There are too many."  
  
Baran turned a horrible look upon Legolas, a look that clearly said, *How could you?* He writhed in Legolas' grasp and struggled to stand again.  
  
"That's an order!" Legolas shouted in desperation and fear. That was a mistake. The orcs heard the sound of his voice and caught the Elven-scent on the air. They were revealed. Six came thundering towards them, each wielding a blade as wide as the trunk of a young tree.  
  
Legolas and Baran leapt to their feet and charged their attackers. There was a loud "CLANG!" of metal hitting metal as the two Elves met the first two orcs head on. Within a moment, one orc was missing its head; the other was run through so hard that it was pushed backward, and its falling carcass tripped the orc behind it. They could tell these were Mountain Orcs (goblins, they were called), unused to the dense, tangled forest. More came at them. Baran spun and twirled, slicing with his two, crescent-bladed knives. His pale skin was splattered with orc blood. Legolas, in turn, was carving up orcs just as ferociously. But there were too many. He saw more coming, an entire horde racing toward the Elven dominion.  
  
The fight paused for a moment. Legolas reached up his hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. He felt a stinging sensation and winced. Bringing his hand down he saw it smeared with blood. He had a large cut on the right side of his forehead, just at his hairline.  
  
A sound brought him back to his senses. It was the clear note of the horn of Baran. He was calling for backup, appealing to the Elven guard oblivious to their plight, and they were going to need it in a few more moments. Legolas ignored the pain from his wound and leapt back into the fray.  
  
A huge orc met him full force. It was a head taller than him, he who was counted tall among his kin. It locked its jagged scimitar with Legolas' blade and pushed forward with a force he hadn't expected. Before he knew what was happening, he had been roughly slammed back first into a tree trunk. He gasped as the breath was knocked out of him. The orc's fearful face twisted into a maniac grin as Legolas' wrists gave way under the pressure.  
  
Suddenly the orc's body stiffened and it fell right on top of the Elf. Relieved, he saw at least seven Elven arrows protruding from its back. In a moment he realized the crushing force of the dead orc on his lungs and freed himself from under its gargantuan weight.  
  
"Your highness!" a voice called, "Are you alright?"  
  
It was Silindë-and at least twenty-five of the other members of the Guard of Mirkwood. They had come in the nick of time. Legolas saw the Elven warriors mowing down orcs as quickly as they could. Their fighting arms were blurs. Arrows shot though the air like quick, precise brushstrokes. Yelling voices and bellows filled the glade.  
  
Silindë rushed to Legolas' side and helped him to stand. "My prince." he whispered in horror. Legolas realized that the right side of his face was streaked with blood, like Uruk war paint. He shook himself back into reality.  
  
"There are more than there appear to be, Silindë," he said. "More are coming. I can smell them in the air. We cannot defeat them with so few." There was a scream. An Elf had been stabbed through the torso. "There is an entire armada here."  
  
If Silindë also harbored Legolas' fear and despair, he would not show it. He slipped an arm around Legolas' waist to help him walk. "Come, my prince. I will take you back to the palace."  
  
"There is no time!" Legolas yelled. Silindë looked genuinely hurt, but Legolas didn't care. He whipped his knife into his hand and flung himself back into the skirmish. "Fight while you can stand," he called.  
  
It was the last time Legolas saw Silindë, son of Haldan.  
  
The battle ended swiftly. Though the orcs were in greater number and at a greater advantage than the Elves, having attacked while they were completely at unawares, they began to flee. One of them barked something in Blackspeech and the warriors simply ceased to fight. This caused many of them to receive an arrow through the eye, or to have an arm lopped off. But they ceased. They turned and they ran.  
  
Exhausted and brutally outnumbered, the Elves resolved to not immediately follow at their heels. An Elf could outrun any orc easily enough, and the trail they left through the forest was so effortless to follow that a human child would have been able to guess their direction: South, toward Dol Guldur.  
  
Legolas sheathed his white knife and dragged a hand across his forehead again. The cut had healed in the Elven manner, clotting quickly. His comrades, equally fatigued, also put away their weapons to attend the wounded. They all had taken some form of injury: the least grievous being the scraped skin upon Aratan's right cheek, and the most was the arrow that had struck Lómion in the side, but had not slain him. They had lost two warriors: one fatally stabbed through the stomach, the other having received two arrows in the chest-Amandil.  
  
Yet two were missing.  
  
"Baran?" Legolas said suddenly. He leapt to his feet, his eyes wild with fear. "Where is Baran?" The Elves stopped all that they were doing and looked about questioningly. This soon turned to cold fear when Aratan whispered, "And Silindë?"  
  
All Elves knew, from the moment they could understand language at their youngest, the stories of the shadows that had taken some of their ancestors from their birthplace at Cuiviénen. They knew that from these sad, lost souls, the orcs had been bred. They knew that the orcs hated Elves above all else and that should an Elf be taken captive by an orc, he was never seen again.  
  
"No!" Legolas cried. He was dizzy with agony from his cut and from his fear, and now the horror of the situation was almost blinding him. He couldn't breathe. The prince fell to his knees, too sad to weep, too angry to speak. He knew it was his fault. He was the one who had suggested they let Gollum roam free, with just three guards to watch him-  
  
Gollum.  
  
Slowly, Legolas turned his head to see Gollum's favorite tree. The other Elves realized with him and they all stared in disbelief and horror at the dangling cord. It had been sliced through the knot, leaving a deep scar upon the bole.  
  
Gollum was gone. Baran and Silindë, slain or taken.  
  
"No," he said again, whispering it to the wind. The woods became alive with the chorus of the Elves' voices; all shocked and frightened, disbelieving of the treachery that had made them fall apart from the inside. Then silence took them all.  
  
And Legolas, staring at the blood upon his hands-his own and that of the Fallen Race-knew that it was his fault.  
  
-Fin-  
  
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